Smokers Kill
by Light The Visionary
Summary: The Butt Out Team return to South Park to talk to the high school students. Was there ever a way this could end well?


**A/N - Because I can. And because we've all had that guest speaker who've we've wanted to murder. **

**Relates to Season 7, episode 13 - Butt Out. I was watching it on Comedy Central the other day and found myself wondering "What if Ze Mole had been there?" **

**As a smoker myself, I think this is more or less how it would have gone. This is my first story that is a decent length as of late, so reward me by reading & reviewing, and enjoy x]**

**This is dedicated to all the smokers out there who have been lectured by people they don't know.**

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"'Butt Out'. What in the world is 'Butt Out'?" I mutter to you as we take a seat on the bleachers

"Zome zort of gay rights organisation?" you offer unhelpfully. I glare at you, but don't say anything. _Ask a stupid question…_

"Wendy, my dear, could you pray tell me what this meeting is about?" I ask the black haired girl sitting in front of us. I hear you scoff beside me and I reach out to hit you.

"It's an anti-smoking group, Gregory" she answers me, smiling.

"Anti-zmoking. You are jokeeng." You say, and the look of horror on your face is really quite amusing.

Four people; three male and one female come out from behind the giant screens the school has set up as the Butt Out logo flashes onto the screens.

The people line up next to each other and start. . Singing?

"**Butt out, yeah yeah, give that cigarette butt a throw.**

**Butt out uh ohh, smoking's got to go!"**

Ohhh dear.

"Hello boys and girls!" one of them, the female, yells.

You're speechless. For the first time ever, you are without words.

Amazing. Truly amazing.

"Hey, did you guys know that each year, 600,000 people a year die from smoking, a year!"

I glance over at you, and I see that your fists are clenched and your eyes are trying to burn a hole in the idiot who's speaking.

"600,000? Are you sure you're not just blowing smoke?"

"Blow smoke? Us? No way! Because we don't need to smoke, and neither do you, right kids? Butt out! **Break it down. . " **

"**Butt out, yeah yeah. It's cool to say no! Butt out, uh huh, smoking's got to go!"**

"Keell me." I turn to look at you properly; your nails have broken the skin of your palms they're clenched so tightly. I try to hold back the laughter, but the expression of horror, fury and attempted self control on your face is so hilarious I almost can't control the laughter rising in my throat. This is your worst nightmare.

"**Freestyle!" **

"**Vernon!"**

"**Don't smoke, don't ever smoke" **

"**Kyle!"**

"**B to the u to the t to the t to the o to the u to the t to the c to the I to the g to the a to the r to the e to the t to the t to the e to the s, butt out cigarettes!" **

"**Randy!"**

"**Smoke, you know, has got to go. . . ." **

I'm not paying attention the anti smokers anymore; I'm focused purely on you. It's much more entertaining.

"Go to your happy place, Christophe" I grin and you're too annoyed to even hit me.

"Stop. Enjoying. This" You hiss at me, eyes never leaving the female, who's now doing the Robot.

"Hey, what's the big deal? I like smoking and it makes me cool!" one of them exclaims, and for some inexplicable reason he's now supporting a badly folded bandana.

Well, at least they're not singing anymore.

"Oh really, do you think lung cancer is cool too?"

"What about emphysema, is that cool too?"

"And what about abortion, and AIDS?"

"That's none to the cool"

"Word"

You groan, face-palming.

I'm still grinning, but in all honesty, I'm beginning to fear for your sanity.

"**Butt out, yeah yeah, give that cigarette butt a throw, butt out uh ohh, smoking's got to go!"**

"Remember kids, if you smoke, you could grow up to be a failure!"

"Or worse, you could grow up to be dead!"

"I weesh I was dead righz now" you mutter.

"So don't believe what those evil tobacco companies tell you,"

"Yeah, because if you don't smoke, you can grow up to be just like us!"

They strike one last ridiculous pose, and Mr Mackey takes centre stage.

"That was very interesting, m'kay. Smoking is bad, m'kay. So don't do it. M'kay." He says.

"And now a big round of applause for the Butt Out Team!" Principal Victoria announces into the microphone.

Not one person claps. Maybe there's hope for the future of South Park after all.

"Clap goddamnit!" Mr Garrison, or is it Mrs Garrison at the moment? Yells from somewhere over by the wall.

Wendy starts to clap and someone a few rows in front of us, Tweek I think, joins in. Albeit hesitantly. Slowly everyone seated on the bleachers begins clapping unenthusiastically. Excluding you of course. You just sit there waiting for an opportunity to escape.

As soon as we're dismissed, you stand up and make your way to the door calmly. Too calmly.

I follow you around the back of the gym and lean up against the wall beside you.

"So, what are we doing all the way back here?" I ask, knowing full well what the answer is.

You ignore me, taking out an opened packet of cigarettes and lighting one as if it'll be your last.

We stand, or lean as the case may be, in companionable silence for a few minutes, but alas, it was not meant to be a simple cigarette behind the school gym.

"Aha! I knew my Cigarette Senses were tingling!"

What. The. Bloody. Hell?

You freeze. Completely and utterly. You don't even seem to be breathing.

"Oh, em, gee Vernon! Tobacco!"

"Were you not at our presentation? 600,000 people a year die from lung cancer and other smoking related diseases. Annually!"

You blink, and I don't think you're quite able to believe that this is actually happening. I can't say I blame you.

"Do you want to die slowly and horribly young man?"

They're right in front of us now, one hand on hip, looking, well, retarded.

"Does your mother know you're smoking? Hmmmm?" The girl says, basically scolding you.

"Fuck off" You say. They ignore you. Idiots.

The man does what is quite possibly the stupidest thing anyone has ever done in the history of the world.

He grabs the cigarette from your hands and stamps on it.

_**BANG.**_

**Thud.**

A millisecond of silence.

"OHH EM.."

_**BANG.**_

**Thud.**

I roll my eyes and you store the gun in your boot once more.

"Was that really necessary?" I ask, feigning exasperation.

You shrug, leaning back against the wall and lighting another cigarette in record time, looking infinitely happier.

I look at the bleeding corpses decorating the concrete and sigh.

I knew I shouldn't have let you bring that to school.


End file.
